The bones also grow in spots. The child’s leg bones and arm bones and finger bones do not simply swell up to become the man’s. The head of each bone, the rounding end, that is, where it touches the next, grows on the outside. But the shaft does its growing chiefly at two spots, one at each end where the shaft joins the head.
The bony part of the tooth, on the other hand, starts as a paper-thin sheet, but full sized. The living cells which build the hard bone, lie on the inside of this shell. They keep building on more bone on the inner surface, pushing themselves toward the middle of the tooth, until the tooth wall is so thick that only a narrow space is left in the center. But their long roots which they leave behind, still reach thru to the outer surface of the bone, ready to ache when there is occasion. Meantime, the outside of the tooth pocket, as we have learned, has been plastering on enamel on the outside of the shell, and pushing itself farther and farther away.
A plant’s roots, like its branches, grow at the tips; and the nerves in our own bodies grow in somewhat the same way, beginning at the inner end, and somehow finding their way thru and around the other tissues of the body, till they find the place to which they were sent. But the muscles and the fat grow thruout their mass, like dough being raised for bread. Most of the hollow tubes of the body—the blood vessels, for example, and the red lane down which our breakfast goes—grow in this way. But the hollow bones, as they grow, are taken down on the inside to enlarge the hollow, and built up again on the outside with old material and new to enlarge the shaft.
Even the blood grows, the watery portion coming from the food we eat and the water we drink; but the red and white corpuscles which float in the watery part, are made in special factories in the body (some of them in the marrow of the bones) and turned loose in the blood stream.
Growing, you see, tho easy to do, is by no means so simple as it appears.
IX
How We Grow Up
Ten years from now, you who are reading these sentences will be grown up. Once you were little pink and white babies, all soft and sweet and clean. And because you were soft and unresisting, you grew at a tremendous rate. At first you probably doubled your weight in six months. Then it took three years; then six or eight. By the time you are twelve, you probably will be half as heavy as you ever will be. In all the rest of your lives, you will do no more growing than you did in the first 180 days of them.
You will grow, too, as you have grown, by fits and starts. Sometimes you will shoot up like sunflower stalks. Sometimes, again, you will stop growing large, and begin growing hard. You will not seem to be getting bigger; but you will be getting stronger. Then, when you start growing again, you will perhaps find that you really can’t do so much as you could when you were a year younger, nor do it so well.
So you will keep on, sometimes growing large and sometimes growing hard, but almost never both at once, until you come to the full stature of men and women, and your soft baby flesh that couldn’t lift its head from the pillow has changed to tough muscle and hard bone. That is, of course, supposing that you have taken care of yourselves. If you haven’t—why then it may be different.